Desperate times... Part II

No snow in December? But there's still cold days, right? So why not ride your bike on the beach?

Inspired by a few folks doing exactly that, folks about half my age, I rode the frozen sands of Park Point this afternoon. Not far, just enough to get a feel for it.

There's a about five bands of sand to choose from, only two of which were good riding. Right at the water's edge was a firm line of wet but unfrozen sand that was good riding, though I felt the constant danger of getting dumped into the cold cold water. I've been reading up on hypothermia lately, and I want no part of that.

There's a band about three feet wide of soft sand, not frozen. Bad bad riding there. It caught my front tire a few times while I was trying to ride the water's edge band and nearly spilled me.

Then there's the band 10-15 feet wide where waves have lapped up and left a sheen of ice mixed with snow and driftwood. It's about 95% safe for riding, since the sand and grit give enough texture for tires to grab. But the 5% of it that's really slippy was enough to dump Hans.

The prime spot is just above that icy band, where the sand was smooth, hard, but not ice-covered. That was sweet riding, and I felt I could have taken in five miles to the end of Park Point.

Just above that prime spot the sand got loose again, probably too dry from summer sun and winds to freeze solid.

My 12-year old son Hans joined me:



After a nice ride toward downtown and back, he found that slippery band. Notice the skid marks in the ice. Nice! He was fine.



Thanks to son Noah for the great photographs, including this self-portrait on a fun winter's day.

Desperate times...

...require desperate measures.

Like, when there's no snow to ski, running down one of Hartley ski trail's two big hills, pretending I'm on skis.



Watch for the poodle...when I run her instinct is to chase, bite and tackle, so it's amazing I made it all they way to the bottom

We are so ready.

I walked the ski trails at Hartley Park today, entering off Hartley Road, off of Arrowhead Road, and this sight of maple leaves frozen into the ground and dusted with snow caught my eye.

We are so ready for winter. The ground is so ready. I am so ready. The light snow falling today says the weather is ready.

Walking a ski trail without the snow, especially one as familiar to me as Hartley, is bizarre and fun. The hills aren't as steep, the trail harder to follow. Everything is slower. The inner loop at Hartley takes me 15 minutes to ski, but 30 minutes to walk. I want the fast version.

The faded cross country ski sign still sticks out from the gray and brown forest. It is so ready.

Whose woods these were

The second most famous line in one of the most famous English language poems, Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening, runs:

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow

These lines came to my mind as I hiked around Scarp Lake on the Hogback Lake trail a week or two ago (on Election Day, actually).

As far as I could tell, it was an old surveyor's post, marking a section or township corner perhaps. An odd feeling hit me, when I saw that it might be a property line. Whose woods these are? Whose woods these were? Well, they're Superior National Forest now, but back then maybe it was a timber company, marking the edge of its property before clearing it, leaving the white pine stumps I'd seen all around. Maybe a homesteader paced off his 40 acres from this post, dreaming of a potato harvest next year.

I've hiked through a lot of forest, on public and private land, but had never seen a post like this.

Here is the post a bit closer up:



I am so glad for open wild places, where property lines disappear in the magnitude of forest, where I can imagine rolling on across esker and swamp near forever.

Frost's poem goes on a bit about horses and farmhouses, then ends with the poem's most famous lines:

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

Can't wrap it up any better than that!

The dog says go. Now.

It's reached a new low. Chloe the psycho poodle will now march into our home office and grab the sleeve of my jacket. Right when I'm trying to use the mouse for something very important, like a database or a file format change. Then she barks and stares. It's time to go. You will take me for a walk now. That piddly stroll to the bus stop was not enough. Go. Now.

Chloe does not respond to reason. She does not understand it when I say, "Give me five minutes." It is now or never; there is no "later" or "soon". Bark. Stare. Jacket grab. Time to go.

So we went. Sure, I thought, I should go to the store anyway, I'll combine the errands. My poodle is really not bossing me, I'm the boss of her.



Check out the expression. Doesn't that just say, "Got what I wanted!"

And isn't it nice to live in Duluth, the urban wilderness, where there are trails and creeks and waterfalls with bridges over them? We did the first loop at Chester Creek, from Fourth Street by 14th Ave. E. There are foot bridges over the creek just above Fourth Street, and another about 6 "blocks" up, past the big arching Eighth/Ninth Street bridge. So we went up one side and came back the other.

Guess who was pulling whom the whole way? Bark. Stare. Grab. Time to go. Now.

First snow

A week or so ago, we had the first snow of the season. Hans took to our backyard and found a treasure trove of snow on the trampoline. Little brother Noah was his first target, of course.

As an adult, my standards are a bit higher. And I'm getting just a bit itchy.

Bring it on! More snow, now! This little coating is pretty and makes decent snowballs, but I want inches. Many inches. A foot or two, especially on the ski trails.

I've gotten the skis out of the attic, we've gone to the ski swap, we're almost fully outfitted. It's nearly Thanksgiving, and I want to be thankful for all the snow we've received by then.

Seeking the light

We are all seeking beauty, and many of us seek to capture beauty in a photo's frame, to understand, to remember. Our photos become our memories. And when there are no photos to be our memories, we may make do with symbols.



It was a busy day at Split Rock Lighthouse last week for the annual Fitzgerald memorial ceremony. I attended the somber gathering at the lighthouse itself. Hearing the bells and the names brought that tragedy home.

Right after the ceremony, I booked down the hill not only to try my own camera out on this, but also to see the scene.

Perhaps 100 photographers lined the shoreline west of the lighthouse, ready for their once-a-year chance to shoot the North Shore landmark with its lights on. This year had a little extra challenge for the lenses and f-stops: a waxing, near full moon up above the lighthouse.



In the low light, a tripod was critical. I didn't have a tripod. But I got a shot or two by resting the camera on a beach rock. As the Fresnel lens spun slowly around and the light turned toward me, I gently pressed the shutter release and held my breath for an exposure of at least a second.



In these beautiful places, I leave the beautiful photography to those people who know what they're doing (like they bring tripods, for example). These people with tripods are honoring the mariners of the Fitz too, just like the people at the bell-ringing ceremony. The lighthouse represents the hope for the sailors. Photographers and sailors' souls are all seeking the light.

The light at Split Rock

It was a beautiful evening at Split Rock Lighthouse this Monday. The lake was calm, glowing and smooth. The moon rose stealthfully in the eastern sky. People were smiling, telling stories, faces lit. The fact that it had been 33 years to the day since the Edmund Fitzgerald had passed by a dark Split Rock Light on its way to its destiny seemed novel, out of place.

A ship passed by in the distant shipping lane, under the waxing moon.


Then they began to read the names and toll the bell. 29 times. Plus one with no name, for all the other mariners who have perished on Lake Superior.



Lake Superior has claimed her dead and tucked them into dark places for eternity. Tonight, however, we were alight and alive.

Wow...The Kek by The Man

Martin Kubik founder of the Kekekabic Trail Club, hikes the 41 mile wilderness trail in three days.

Check it out. He's got great photos and a great story.

Hogback, Hump Back, Ba-Rack

A good day in the woods, a great day for the country.

My weeks on injured reserve are done, and my apparently mild case of plantar fasciitis has healed. Plus I just couldn't stand to hang out in town all day waiting for election results. So in this very narrow window before deer season and the first snows, I got out on two trails I'd been meaning to hike all fall.

Both trails were up the Cramer Road out of Finland. It had been so foggy next to Lake Superior I wanted to get away from the big cold water and into the clear.

First up was the trail at Hogback Lake.

This is a Superior National Forest trail system about 25 miles inland from Finland. Total drive time from Highway 61 is about 45 minutes.

It's a sweet hike, though it was shorter than I expected. It's called the Hogback Lake trail, though it only starts at that lake; most of the trail is a loop around Scarp Lake. There's an extra loop to Lupus Lake I did not take. Grand total distance for the loop around Scarp Lake was 2.8 miles.

The dog and I took a break in the sun at Scarp Lake. Scarp has a big escarpment on its south side, probably the source of the name.


Next it was back down the Cramer Road (aka Lake County Road 7) back toward Finland but turning off to Crosby-Manitou State Park.

Crosby-Manitou has a well-deserved reputation as a remote hikers' park. They take their hiking seriously.

Whoever took the time to peck out that bottom sign must have issues with hikers taking the wrong trail.

The Hiking Club Trail makes a loop out of three park trails, the Hump Back Trail, part of the River Trail, and the Middle Trail. The River Trail is etched into my childhood memories as the location for repeated family machismo hiking the length of the Manitou on unofficial trails from the Cramer Road through to Highway 61. It was a rough trail back when I was 9 and 10 and 12, and it's even rougher now.

I stopped at the Cascades and remembered my last time there, in the winter with my father on his 60th birthday in January, on skis and breaking trail all the way down the river.

Yard-for-yard, this was the hardest Hiking Club trail on the North Shore. Only 2.3 miles, it was a lot of up and down and rough trails.

The drive back to Duluth was a long one, but it was so cleansing. I had shed my heel problems, kept the car stereo OFF of news radio, and made it back home in one piece. I was tired, the dog was exhausted, but I stayed up to watch the election returns. A nice day hiking for me, and I emerged from the woods into a great day for Barack Obama and our country.

Prewinter Piedmont Poodle

Now is the time to get out on those favorite ski trails...for a hike. I hit our local neighborhood Piedmont ski trails yesterday with Chloe, our psychotic standard poodle. It was great to be out on a familiar trail. But things are a bit different when there's no snow on the ground. Or when you have a dog along.

Yes I let the dog off the leash. She loves running off leash, but right away she's breaking the rules, going the wrong way on a one-way trail!



Turns out the benches are a lot higher when there's no snow on the ground:



And when you get to the end of the trail, it's really hard to take off your boots:



It's hard to believe that in a month, we might be skiing on this trail. But it will be so very nice to have it back the way I'm used to it.

Funny from Texas

Check out this funny essay from a Texas columnist about his recent trip to Two Harbors and the rabid late-season mosquitoes. Based on his dateline, this must have been just two weeks ago that he had so many skeeters.

This was totally the summer of bugs for us, like the woods were full of frustrated larvae that had waited out two or three dry summers and then just cranked out the generations like mad to catch up.

I don't know how this writer's bug experience really was. I'm pretty accustomed to onslaughts of insects. But the fact that this was mid-October is pretty weird.

Hiking Trail Defense Detour

For the next few days, the Superior Hiking Trail has a small detour.


Does the name "Superior Hiking Trail" evoke images of wooded ridgelines and deep blue views of Lake Superior? Do you feel the quiet of the trail, the peace of the forest? You probably don't think about throbbing engines, the sound of reveille, or a modular weapons system.

Trails get detoured for all kinds of reasons. Beavers flood the trail with a dam. A windstorm knocks down a few acres of trees. A private property dispute arises or the land is resurveyed.

For the first time that I'm aware of, the US Department of Defense has mandated a detour. Hardcore SHT hikers and a few residents of Duluth may know that the SHT runs right along the waterfront in front of the Duluth Entertainment and Convention Center. That waterfront space is now home to the Freedom, a brand new Navy ship built in Wisconsin and about to be commissioned in Milwaukee.


The detour is just in place through this Thursday, when the Freedom will leave for Milwaukee. But it's a serious detour; you can't just skip over the downfall or shortcut across property lines. Armed guards and a tall temporary fence make it pretty much mandatory that you take the detour.


The ship has attracted a small crowd of the curious and the patriotic. The humming and the geometry remind me of one of those opening scenes in Star Wars, as the giant Star Destroyer passes overhead humming (despite that inconvenient fact that there is no sound in space).

It really is quite a sight. Enjoy this detour while you can!

Just here for the baked goods

Who's that guy at the press conference in Duluth, plugging the "Vote Yes!" campaign for dedicated natural resource funding?

Oh, it's me! Funny thing, I didn't think I'd be speaking at the event. I'd been at a meeting to organize it, but the decision had been to find someone who actually worked somewhere, like The Nature Conservancy. Me? I just came for the donuts.

And darn it all if those donuts didn't hit the road with the crew from the Cities on their way to their next event in Grand Rapids. I thought briefly about stopping them on their way out of the Marine Museum. They had one of those big white cardboard boxes, and some of them even had chocolate icing...I've been thinking about those baked goods all day.

Vote Yes! Protect the Minnesota you love!

Jay Cooke thanks you

Just spent a fun few hours at the studio of KUMD, helping with their fall membership drive and pitching Skiing the North Shore. Northland Morning host-with-the-most Lisa Johnson said she has never been to Jay Cooke State Park.

To all four of my regular readers, MOST of whom have been to this fabulous, nearby state park, full of hiking trails and ski trails and an incredible river, THANK YOU for being a good citizen and visiting Jay Cooke. Lisa...haul your trailer (sorry, must be logged into Google-world to see these photos) there for a fall weekend and enjoy this gem.

On the road

We drove from Ely to Duluth along Highway 1 the other day. There's some woozy curves along the way, especially woozy for kids in the back seat. I guess Noah wanted some fresh air, or he'd been inspired by the poodle, but he seemed to be enjoying the cool fall air and the breeze as we passed near Isabella.

When Noah grins like this, my whole world lights up.

My favorite ski trails...once

Back when I was a hippy...

When I lived out of the back of my car and made just enough money for new wool socks...

When I owned just one pair of skis, some Rossignol Randonees with metal edges I could use for downhill, cross country and everywhere in between...

Way back then, the North Arm Ski Trails north of Ely were my favorite ski trails. I loved the wild forests and hairy turns and the pride and work of packing my own trails. Tall pines marked the trail.


We hiked those trails this weekend, one last bit of fall colors in the woods as the tamarack and a few aspen were hanging in there with their season's best.

The trails in summer are nice for hiking, except a few low wet areas that had been filled in with logs. Perfect for winter, treacherous in summer. Hard to believe the open, lichen-covered rocks could make a good ski trail, but with decent snow cover the trails are great. Bring your shortest ski poles with the biggest baskets, however; the skier-tracked tracks are deep in the snow.

Now I'm hopeless addicted to wider groomed ski trails. I can't get the speed I'd like on these North Arm trails, and if I did, I'd probably crash into the big pines or over the Troll's Bridge.

But wow, are they sweet on a quiet winter wilderness day!

New trail at Gooseberry

For some, the North Shore ends at Gooseberry Falls State Park. It's all they've ever seen. Split Rock Lighthouse is way out there. To cross the bridge over the Gooseberry River (above) is to enter the Vast Unknown.

For me, the North Shore is just beginning at Gooseberry. And now, the North Shore's cool new trail, the Gitchi Gami Trail, starts at Gooseberry too. Below is the view facing west from the bridge. On the right is Highway 61, on the left is the new GG trail headed downhill toward the campground.


Maybe you've seen the slow slow progress as you drive up the shore. Just past the entrance to Gooseberry, a trail bed winds along the old highway roadbed up and to the right of Highway 61. A very short section of bike trail connected, well, J. Gregors Inn with just about nothing.

The bike trail is now paved all the way from Beaver Bay (think Big Dipper ice cream, the Beaver River, and the agate shop) to Gooseberry, with some terrific stops along the way. Some of my favorites along this stretch are Thompson Beach, Gold Rock Point and the wooded bridge over Split Rock Creek. Full coverage next spring, I promise!

You can access this section of trail from the popular Gooseberry main parking lot. Another cool spot to park and enjoy is the Twin Points boat landing, halfway between Gooseberry and Split Rock. Go west on the bike trail to Gooseberry or east on the trail to Split Rock.

A walk for all seasons

The Western Waterfront Trail in Duluth is one of my favorite walks in changing seasons. It runs over three miles along or near the shoreline of the St. Louis River. The trail is wide and well-graveled. Although open for bicycles, most users are on foot.


It seems like there is always something cool to see and to mark the change of seasons. In spring, it's the first trail in Duluth to be dry and clear of snow, and there's terrific early season bird watching with immature bald eagles and waterfowl coming along the St. Louis River's broad wetland areas even before the ice is out. In fall, there are nice leaf colors in the willows.

In the winter, the trail is sometimes groomed for cross country skiing.

As a hiker, I like to use the trailhead on 63rd Ave. W., south of Ramsey Street. That gets you right out on the trail and on the water's edge. To reach this trailhead, take the Central Avenue exit in Duluth, head south to Ramsey Street, turn right on Ramsey and drive past the North Pole Bar to 63rd Ave W. Turn left there, then find the trail on the right one block short of the dead-end of 63rd Ave.

Any time of year, if Lake Superior has cranked up its big old wind machine, the Western Waterfront Trail is a nice escape from the cold and maybe from the fog.

Go for it!

Where the lost hikers were found

Last week, two hikers from Duluth were lost on the Kekekabic Trail. The "Kek" is a wilderness giant that connects the Ely area with the Gunflint Trail through the heart of the BWCA. It's a rough and rugged trail, hard to find anytime but especially difficult after the blowdown and fires that have rearranged the whole region.

The two hikers that had been missing this weekend were found yesterday just north of Bingshik Lake. This spring I hiked in to Bingshik Lake (picture below) on the Kekekabic Trail. It was just a day hike, but I was still struck by how rugged and unforgiving the terrain is. The trailbed itself was basically fine, but the "woods" were a jumble of blown-down and burned-down tree trunks (picture above).


I am not at all surprised that they got off the trail. I was there before the grass grew in; with full grass cover, it could have made the trail impossible to find or follow.

This first (or last) section of the Kek receives, I imagine, better maintenance than the rest of the trail. What a challenge those two hikers had! I am so glad they were found and are okay. The Kek is deserving of all the press it gets for being over-the-top challenging.

The sunrise coast

Here is this morning's sunrise, viewed from our backyard.


Although I write about the North Shore of Lake Superior, we actually live on the west shore. Minnesota Point forms the blunt tip of the nose of the Lake Superior wolf head. So we get sunrises, sometimes very beautiful ones.

Do sunrises inspire great works through the day? Does it make us better people here on Minnesota Point that we're greeted by beauty in the morning? California is the land of sunsets over the Pacific Ocean—are people there different from us because of that?

I don't know. I do know that now it's raining and I've got a long to-do list for the day. We'll see what inspiration I have from this morning's beauty.

Out of the wild

The juncos are coming through. They're hoping around our backyard, cool as a cucumber. Check that, our garden cucumbers are gone already since it got too cold for them. The juncos are as cool as a...carrot...and nearly as earth-bound.

Juncos remind me of the wild woods, the deep real forests that surround Duluth and Lake Superior. They hang up there in the deep woods as long as they can, and only migrate a short ways south. Compared with the chickadee, juncos are a bit more shy and a bit more wild. Yet they come each year to our backyard and hang for a few weeks.

Juncos are ground feeders, often seen on the grass below feeders scooping up leftovers from hoggy squirrels.

I found the picture above from the US Fish and Wildlife Service. I searched a lot of images, but couldn't find one that showed the junco's most distinctive marking, the white outer tail feathers that flash when they flit into flight. I know this bird well enough to identify it by season, by association. Crisp northwest breezes? October or April? Smell of leaves starting to rot? Flash of white means junco.

As fall rolls along and we become increasing set at home, it warms my heart to have this little reminder of the deep woods come hang with us out of the wild.

My left foot

I shouldn't complain. I've had some great outings on the North Shore this fall already. But here we are at the peak of fall colors on the North Shore, and I am laid up with a bum heel.

Any time you have a Latin anatomical word, and it ends in "-itis," that means that part of your anatomy is injured or swollen. My plantar fascia hurts. I'd never heard of that particular body part, but it's the tendon that wraps under your heel and heads for your toes. The pain means I have plantar fasciitis.

I have the typical symptoms: the pain is worst in the morning when I first get up, it gets worse the longer I stand on it, and I'm feeling a desperate need for better arch support.

The best treatment is rest...for like three months. So I'm resting. And canceling hiking plans. I suppose the long hikes I've been doing on the SHT this fall haven't helped, and bouncing around the tennis court doesn't count as rest. Darn it. I don't want to be laid up by sore joints; it just sounds like middle age to me, and I'm not ready for that. What's next? Reading glasses? AARP mailings?

Girls' day out

Fall on the North Shore, there is no better place to be than on some rocky ridge over an inland lake peering out over the tapestry of maples. Here, it's Bean Lake on the Superior Hiking Trail. Incredible spot, challenging hike.

I didn't go, not this time. I stayed home with the boys to nurse a sore foot and to keep the boys from revolting. Nothing ruins a great hike like a child's complaints halfway through. There's only so many times you can pull out the M&Ms to keep the troops moving. Noah warned me that if he had to come along and hike, "Don't thing I'm having a good time. I'll just be looking at the ground and waiting until it's over."

So this was Sally's trip with her sister Anita. Sally carried the nice SLR camera in its sweat-inducing fannypack all the way in, and despite some camera malfunctions, got a very nice picture of Anita and Bean Lake. They continued around to Bear Lake and did the loop trail back to Penn Boulevard.


They came back glowing like the maple trees, flush with the exercise and the challenge of the SHT's rocks and hills. Like a detective, I plugged them for details, trying to experience the day through their tired eyes and limbs. Crowds? Only in the parking lot. Fall colors? Not quite peak. Trail conditions? Crumbly and calf-burning.

It's Monday, my foot still hurts, and Sally is back at work. But the pictures and the stories still resonate for me. To torture a pun, I "Bean" there before. Thanks, Sal!

Follow me

They call it an "assurance marker." A few years back, the good folks at the Superior Hiking Trail came up with a simple, affordable way to mark the route of the trail. Blue paint blazes went up on trees and rocks all up and down the trail, even in Duluth. The marks are meant to "assure" hikers that they're still on the trail. And they work. During a long hiking day, I watch for those blazes to keep my energy from flagging,

But I get goofy in the brain, too. To me, the blazes look just the size and shape of an old-fashioned chalkboard eraser, with those thick layers of black felt just waiting to be banged together at the end of the day by the star student. So almost everytime I see one I imagine a precocious second grader teacher's pet, dipping an eraser ever so carefully into a tray of blue paint and applying it to the tree or, harder to imagine, rough rock.

This particular blaze above is on an overlook near Wolf Ridge ELC. In their SHT book, Ron Morton and Judy Gibbs call the bedrock here "tortured basalt."

The SHT blaze system gets more complicated. A white blaze means you're on a spur trail. Two offset blazes mean something like a turn is coming up, watch out.


They even use the blazes on their signs, which seems a bit funky since a blaze is meant for a natural surface. But consistency is comfort.

To me, one of the great beauties of hiking is to let go of worry, to let good trail maintenance and design take over your day, to be guided through some spectacular land. I love rock cairns on slickrock or on the open tundra, the way they say "Hey you human, follow me." In short, I take great comfort in being "assured."

Carpe vesperem

With kids in school all day and sunset coming earlier and earlier, we can't really seize the day anymore, as in the old saying "carpe diem." Instead, for a brief window here, we can seize the evening, ergo "carpe vesperem." Darn good thing I had three and a half years of Latin to adjust the old saying. In late September, old sayings aren't the only thing needing adjustment: outdoor play time needs to be jiggered as well.

So we get dinner on the table early, say 5:30, and then get some of the dishes put away, and Noah and I have a magical half-hour before that 6:50 sunset to head out into the neighborhood on our bikes. You can't drive anywhere, since it would be dark when you arrived. And Canal Park is gorgeous at sunset, with the lift bridge and the slanting light illuminating the boats.

Seize the day...or at least what's left of it.

Where in the World?

On my North Shore hike today, I found this cool tunnel, formed by huge slabs of rock coming off of a cliff and stacking up like playing cards. I'm sorry to say this, but it reminded me most of the tunnel on the 18th hole of the minigolf course in Grand Marais.

But where was it? It was right off of the Superior Hiking Trail, for one thing.

Here's another hint:


I don't know who named this particular feature of the SHT, but I think it should be "Picnic Rocks" plural, since the main feature at the end of the spur trail wasn't a big overlook atop some rock perfect for lunch, but this amazing pile of rocks,some of which might actually work as a picnic table.

One more photo hint. This is 0.4 miles further up the SHT:


Still stumped? Here's the map.

It was a great hike, though my legs are burning from all the ups and all the downs. Maple trees are fully turned in some places, yellow-ish green in others. Get out this weekend!!

And watch out for snowshoers!

Deep in the backcountry of Jay Cooke State Park, be very very cautious. Stay on the trails and above all FOLLOW ALL DIRECTIONS! You just might encounter those dreaded and stinky beasts of the woods, the SKIERS.

You have been warned.

'Tweens in the Wilderness

Slim Lake, off of the North Arm Road off of the Echo Trail north of Ely, has been a great introduction to the BWCA Wilderness for our family and our friends. Our first tentative half-hour canoe outings were here. The portage in is short and easy, and the lake is beautiful. After a short canoe paddle, or even during it, there are high rock outcrops to climb, like Hans and his friend Albert in the picture above.

However, it's been hard to impress the boys with the importance of the Wilderness or the boundary they cross when we enter it. How do you impress a jaded kid with what isn't there? No motors, no houses, no tangible signs of humans. It's all about what is not there. Even the definition in the 1964 Wilderness Act is a negative: untrammeled.

What marks the Wilderness? Sometime in the last ten years the classic wooden sign at the wilderness boundary has disappeared, so you don't get that dramatic moment of stepping into the BWCAW. Instead, we filled out the day permit at the parking lot and talked just a bit about the rules and regs. Later, on a shore excursion to climb a nice hunk of granite, in a a fine moment of boy energy well-spent, we dismantled an illegal firepit and chucked the smoke-stained boulders into the lake with ginormous splooshes. The firepit had two of those plastic BWCA-legal beer bottles, which was ironic given the illegality of the campsite.

But I still don't think they got it. Twelve-year-olds maybe can't grasp the bigger concept...I didn't when I was canoeing the BWCA and Quetico at that age. And that's fine.

Wilderness is a great place to climb the rocks and make goofy faces and be with your buddy. And that's as true for a 12-year-old as a 44-year-old.